


The Kings and the White Gems

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [37]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arguments, Historic Dispute, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, The Box of White Gems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5067394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is so much richer than Thranduil – much richer than anyone, if truth be known – and it begins to get up Thranduil’s nose.  The elven king has bitten his lip for some time but will Thorin’s smugness about his wealth finally push him over the edge and will his possession of the elven white gems  cause a new row and threaten their relationship?  Of course it will, LOL!<br/>Another of my Thorinduil stories from the Two Kings series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the White Gems

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the White Gems

 

Pt I

 

Rivers of Gold

 

Thranduil had been riding impatiently all the way from Mirkwood to spend his two weeks with Thorin in Erebor but now that he was at the dwarf’s apartment, he found his partner wasn’t there.  Instead, a note was pinned to the door: _I’m down in the Treasury_ , it said in Thorin’s large, flowing hand.

 

The elven king tutted.  He had been fantasising all the way to the Mountain about the things he would do to his lover the moment that the door shut behind them and he wasn’t best pleased to find that he was elsewhere.  Their two weeks apart as they devoted themselves to their kingdoms and their heirs were always such a trial and they usually couldn’t wait to see each other once more.  Well, Thranduil couldn’t.  Obviously, it wasn’t so important to the dwarf, he snorted, otherwise he would have made more effort to be in his rooms.  And Thranduil grumbled darkly to himself all the way down the long flight of stairs leading to the vast halls that were heaving with gold and untold wealth.

 

It always stunned him when he entered this Treasury: even after some of the gold had been given away to the survivors of Lake Town whilst huge portions had been settled on the dwarven kingdoms and those brave companions of Thorin’s Quest, it was almost impossible to estimate the mind-boggling amount that still remained in the Mountain.

 

But, even though piles of gold still lay all around, unused, uncounted and untouched, the one thing that Thranduil wanted from the hoard had still not been offered to him.  And he _certainly_ was not going to beg for it.  If Thorin loved him – if he truly, truly loved him – which he sometimes doubted – the precious white stones would be offered to him freely and unprompted.

 

He looked down at his marriage finger: there the betrothal ring flashed and sparkled in the gloom.  It was a thing of great beauty and very precious to him and it was set with one of the fabulous white stones that had been stolen from the elves.  Well, he said ‘stolen’, but the dwarves disputed that.  Years ago, long before Thorin’s time, a chest of these wonderful stones had been given to the dwarves for them to set into necklaces and brooches and rings.  But, the elves had refused to pay them and so the dwarves had, in retaliation, refused to give them back.  It was an historic dispute and neither side would give in to the other.  The ring had nearly brought an end to their betrothal before it had even started.  And things would have finished there if it hadn’t been for Brangwyn’s intervention with her usual shed-load of common sense.

 

But, if he thought about things too hard – as he always did when he came down into these halls filled with gold – then Thranduil became very bad-tempered.

 

Halfway down the stairs, he met Balin puffing his way up.  “I’m too old for this,” smiled the elderly dwarf, resting for a moment.

 

“Is he down there?” asked the elven king rather curtly.

 

“Yes – and still counting,” he grinned, continuing on his way.

 

It was a joke, of course.  And yet….. not a joke.  Not to Thranduil, anyway.  If Thorin should count for a million years, he would not have dealt with the half of it.  And that rather stuck in Thranduil’s craw.  Mirkwood was the poorest of all the elven strongholds and it riled him to see his partner’s wealth scattered about in such wanton abandon.  But, he would NOT ask for a share, not even if it were offered in the form of a dowry.  The white stones were something that should have been given to him as soon as they were married…… but they weren’t.  And now it was too late.

 

The main hall, when he reached it, seemed deserted and he called Thorin’s name.  The dwarf shouted back from an inner sanctum, a large room where the best of all the treasures were being sorted and stored.  This was where Thorin had found the betrothal ring and had offered it to Thranduil, not realising what it was.  The elf, of course, had seen it as an insult, but now he wore it with pride and revelled in its beauty.  If only he had the rest of these stones, he would be completely happy.

 

“Why on earth are you down here,” asked the elf grumpily, “instead of upstairs in your rooms?  Waiting for me.  You knew what time I would get here.”

 

Thorin grinned.  “I thought this might be a good place to have fun.”

 

“What!  With no bed?  What’s so good about that?”

 

The dwarf’s grin widened.  “Well, we have a bed of gold,” he laughed.  And he swiftly stripped off his boots, his breeches and his shirt and then, completely naked, flung himself backwards upon the pile of gold coins that tumbled in a great heap on one side of the room.  “Only the highest carat, of course,” he chuckled.

 

Thranduil watched wide-eyed as the coins slithered and chinked around Thorin.  They shone numinously in the torch-light and cast their golden shadow upon the dwarven king’s body.  And with that soft sheen and - it should be noted - a very hard erection, he looked more beautiful than ever: barbaric, wild, sensuous and very, very desirable.

 

“What are you waiting for, then?” asked the dwarf in a deep, throaty growl.

 

Thranduil wasn’t sure .  Perhaps the sight of Thorin half-buried in all that lustrous precious metal fixed him momentarily to the spot.  But, not for long.  He yanked off his silken robe and then unbuttoned his breeches before casting himself upon the dwarf’s body.

 

It was an interesting sensation.  The coins shifted and moved beneath the elf’s elbows and knees and made his attempt to penetrate Thorin slightly trickier than usual.  Finally, he achieved his goal and thrust deep in triumph.

 

Then: “Are the coins hurting you?”

 

Thorin grunted:  “No, we should do this more often.   The gold just gives way beneath me.”  And his panting groans increased.

 

They came together – the first fuck after two weeks apart was always spectacular to the point of pain.  Thorin lay gasping and the coins trickled and tinkled about him.  “Couldn’t be bothered to take your breeches off, I see,” he finally said with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Let’s say, I couldn’t find it in myself to wait a moment longer,” murmured the elf.  “Those two weeks apart are always very, very hard.”

 

“Yes, I noticed,” was the amused response.

 

Thranduil had collapsed upon him and now he nuzzled his throat.  “What gave you the idea for a fuck in the vaults?” he asked with interest.

 

Thorin laughed: “Two things, actually.  First, it’s one of the few places left where we _haven’t_ fucked.  And secondly, I suddenly thought of what you said to me in the dungeons of Mirkwood, all those years ago and wondered if it might be an interesting experience.”

 

“What was that, then?” asked Thranduil curiously, raising himself on his elbow.

 

“You know, that time when you were trying to seduce me and you offered to cover my body in gold and precious stones.”  The dwarf gave an amused laugh.  “I just thought there was a better selection here than in Mirkwood.”

 

Thorin could have been more sensitive – but sometimes these things just pop out without any thought that it might upset a partner.  Thranduil’s lips tightened.  And then he stood up, buttoned his breeches and pulled on his robe.  The dwarf gave him a puzzled look.  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

 

“Yes, we elves all know that Erebor is just so much richer than Mirkwood.  But you do get the urge to rub it in, don’t you?” the elven king exclaimed bitterly.  “I don’t think I can cope with this _nouveau riche_ attitude much longer.  It’s in such bad taste – but I suppose I can expect no less from a race that has stolen so much from us and still gloats over it.”  And he turned towards the door.

 

Meanwhile, Thorin was scrambling into his own clothes.  “Hey!  No need for all the abuse!” he growled.  But, the elf had made his exit and was mounting the stairs at all speed, leaving the dwarven king hopping on one foot as he tried to pull on his boots.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

An Unresolved Dispute

 

When Thranduil got to the top of the flight of stairs, he looked one way towards the stables and the other towards Thorin’s rooms.  Should he stay or should he go?  In the end, as he heard the dwarf’s footsteps mounting behind him, he decided that it might be best to remain and have this dispute about wealth out in the open once and for all.  And he hurried to the apartment, there to compose himself calmly for what he was sure would become a very bitter row.

 

Thorin, meanwhile, confident that Thranduil had taken so much stupid offence that he was on the verge of leaving, charged down to the stables.  He was very surprised to find his horse still there and ran back up to his rooms.  A very flustered dwarven king entered to find his icily aloof partner standing there, calm as you please, with a glass of wine at his lips.

 

“I thought I’d seen the back of you,” he snarled, annoyed that he had been given the run-around.

 

“Nearly,” said the elf coolly.  “But then I decided that a really good argument would be more satisfying.”

 

Thorin threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.  “But an argument about what?  There is nothing to argue about.  Erebor is the richest kingdom that Middle-earth has ever known and that’s the beginning and the end of it!”

 

“But it’s your attitude,” shouted Thranduil in return.  “The whole world knows how rich you are but you won’t shut up about it.  And then to suggest that Mirkwood is so poverty-stricken that I would have been unable to fulfil my promise to cover your body in gold and precious stones – well, that was just the last straw!” 

“Oh, don’t be silly!” snapped Thorin.  “You know how much is strewn all over the place here – and it just came to me as a good idea for a bit of sexual fun.  I wasn’t implying anything.  And, anyway, if you really were so poor that you needed a bit of gold, you know that I’d give it to you.”

 

“Thank you so much,” said Thranduil coldly, “for making me feel like a pauper, begging at your gates.  And it’s not the gold I want – or need.  You must know that the only thing I want from you is that chest of white stones.”

 

There was a long pause as the elf glared at the dwarf and the dwarf looked rather uncomfortable and shifty.

 

Finally: “And you must know that those white stones are the only thing I cannot give you.”

 

“Why not?” snapped Thranduil and his tone was even icier.

 

Thorin sighed.  “I’m sure you don’t even need to ask – and you are putting me in an impossible position.  The stones are part of an unresolved dispute.  There is no right answer – for either side.  The elves refuse to pay and we refuse to give them back.  And the outcome is a deadlock.”

 

Thranduil flung out his hand and the betrothal ring glittered ominously: “But you have already given me one – why not the others?”

 

“First,” was the tired response, “I gave it to you when I didn’t realise what it was.  Secondly, I gave it to you as a betrothal ring and, as such, it is still part of the dwarven crown jewels, to be returned at the end of my life, to be used by our heirs if they so choose.  But, if I hand over the chest, then I shall be handing back a disputed treasure not just to you but to the elves – and my people will feel that they have lost face and will never forgive me.”

 

Thranduil had not thought about the ring being part of the crown jewels rather than a personal gift to him.  He blinked and felt even angrier.  “Do you know how offensive you are being?” he asked, bending a steely gaze upon his lover.

 

“It is you who choose to take offence,” said Thorin wearily.

 

The elven king lifted his chin proudly.  “We are kings,” he said.  “And we cannot live our lives for ourselves alone, however much we may wish to.  The chest of gems lies between us as an insurmountable wall just as much as it lies between our two peoples.  And, if the dispute cannot be resolved…….”  His voice tailed off and he looked down at the ring on his finger.  Then he slid it off, placed it quietly on a table and made his exit from the room.

 

Thorin stood there, stunned like one pole-axed, and made no attempt to follow him.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Third Party

 

Dwalin and Balin were surprised when the two kings didn’t come down to dine that evening.  “They often turn up a bit late, after a good screw,” offered Dwalin.

 

Balin tutted at his brother’s coarseness.  “You’re talking about your king and his consort,” he said.  “Show a bit more respect.”

 

“Well, it’s true,” was the reply.

 

They waited another hour before deciding to check out the situation.  “Now, carefully, brother,” muttered Balin, as Dwalin prepared to bang on the door.  “We don’t want to interrupt anything.”

 

But, no-one answered their knock and when they tried the door and found it unlocked, they cautiously entered.

 

Thorin was sitting, slumped in a chair, absolutely blind drunk.  And there was no sign of the elven king anywhere.

 

“Where is he, laddie?” asked Balin gently.  But, he and his brother rolled their eyes at each other over the top of Thorin’s head.  Not again!

 

“’S’gone,” slurred Thorin.

 

“Go and make him a herbal tea,” said Balin quietly.  “You know, the one that’s good for hangovers.”  And then he surreptitiously began to clear all the half-empty wine bottles.

 

An hour later, a grey-faced Thorin was at least capable of speech.

 

The two brothers sat patiently and waited.

 

“So, what was it this time?” Balin finally asked.

 

“The white gems,” muttered Thorin, pressing a hand to his aching forehead.

 

“Ah,” replied the old counsellor.  “I see.  Tricky one.”

 

Dwalin was a bit slower to draw conclusions and _didn’t_ see.

 

“You know,” explained his king wearily, “those gems that we went to war with the elves about.”

 

“Oh, _those_ gems,” he replied with an understanding grunt.  Then:  “You’re _not_ going to give them back, are you?  For goodness’ sake, Thorin!  You wouldn’t!  They’d run you out of Erebor if you did!”

 

“No, of course I’m not,” sighed the dwarven king.  “But that’s not how Thranduil sees things.  And since we are at an impasse, he has walked out.  And I see no resolution.”  He looked more miserable and wretched than the brothers had ever seen him before.

 

“Put him to bed,” said Balin quietly to Dwalin.  “And then I want you to stay with him overnight.  I’m worried about his state of mind.  And, don’t worry.  I’ll let Bilbo know what you’re up to.”

 

“Well, I don’t think he’ll be pleased to hear the news,” growled Dwalin.

 

“Why?” asked Balin.  “Because he’ll feel suspicious of what you might be up to with Thorin?”

 

“No.  But, because he’ll be jealous and wish he had the same opportunity!” laughed the dwarf.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin slept heavily for several hours and then he jerked awake.  Dwalin was sitting and watching him in a chair close to his bed.

 

“Head hurts,” he groaned.

 

“Not surprised,” grimaced Dwalin.  “Not considering the amount you packed away.  It doesn’t help, you know.”

 

“Well, if I want to block it out, that’s the only way I can think of.”

 

Thorin’s best friend gave him a considering look.  “So, you’d rather I didn’t get into bed with you like I did that last time?”

 

Thorin returned him a wan smile.  “Not this time – or ever.  No-one else but Thranduil – ever.  And, if that means I shall go to my grave untouched and unloved from this point onwards, then, so be it.”

 

“Not unloved,” replied Dwalin gently.  “Never that.”

 

“And besides,” said the king, “what about Bilbo?”

 

“We get on well together.  We have a good time in bed….But, it’s not the same…….You must know that.”

 

Thorin nodded.  Yes, he did understand that.  It would never be the same with anyone other than Thranduil.

 

After a pause, the big dwarf drew in a deep breath.  “So what are you going to do about it?”

 

“There’s nothing I can do.  We’ve come to a full stop.  Have you got any suggestions?”  He said this with a half-smile and with no expectations that anyone in all of Erebor could come up with a solution.

 

“Well, perhaps I have,” said Dwalin unexpectedly.

 

Thorin wondered what daft plan his friend would come up with.

 

“I see it this way,” he continued.  “The elves don’t want the dwarves to have the stones.  The dwarves don’t want the elves to have the stones.  And so….you give it all away to a third party.  Someone that both sides approve of.”

 

The king’s eyes brightened.  “You just might have it,” he said.  “Now all we need to do is find a suitable third party!”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Delicate negotiations had been held behind the scenes and endless letters had been exchanged with the third party.  It had taken weeks and, in all that time, Thorin hadn’t heard once from Thranduil.  Mind you, he thought, the elven king hadn’t received a word from him either.  He was taking it small step by small step in case the whole thing went wrong.  Now, at last, all seemed to be teetering on the edge of a solution.  But, he couldn’t rush it: it could still come crashing down about his ears if he said the wrong thing or adopted the wrong tone.  However, although it was time to set out for Mirkwood, he was still concerned about Thranduil’s response and he had to tread carefully.

 

He rode his horse slowly and thoughtfully through the forest, wondering what his reception would be.  At what point should he reveal what he planned?  Not immediately.  He had to test the water first.  At the gates of the stronghold, the guards gave him nervous smiles.  They liked him and, usually, no-one blocked his way but, this time, they asked him politely to wait until their king had been informed.

 

He kicked his heels for longer than he expected but, in the end, he was told that Thranduil would receive him in the throne room.  Thorin’s heart sank and he wondered if Thranduil would be surrounded by his elven courtiers.  But, when he entered the great hall, Thranduil was alone.  The guards shut the tall, double doors behind him and remained outside.

 

The elf sat on his high throne looking very pale.  Then, after a pause: “Have you come to torment me?” he asked in a strained voice.

 

“I have come to talk to you,” said Thorin, “and to see how you are.”

 

“You have seen me.  I am destroyed and now that you know what you have done to me, you can leave,” was the icy response.

 

 _You have destroyed yourself_ , the dwarf wanted to yell in retaliation, but he bit his tongue and took a deep breath, trying to control his heaving emotions.  How beautiful he was.  He couldn’t bear for this to go wrong.

 

How beautiful Thorin looked, thought Thranduil.  And he rose from his throne and slowly descended the stairs.  When they were facing each other, he reached out and touched the dwarf’s cheek.  He couldn’t help it.  Thorin flinched and then turned his face into Thranduil’s palm and kissed it.  The elven king shuddered and the dwarf waited for him to snatch his hand away.  Instead, he slid his hand around the back of ThorIn’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

 

The kiss was long and Thorin responded.  The elf’s tongue thrust deep into the warm wetness and then he sucked the dwarf’s lower lip into his mouth.  The longing was heart-breaking and it was as if they had never been apart.

 

Then Thranduil spoiled things.  “Let me have the white gems,” he whispered into Thorin’s throat.  “And then we can be as we were.”

 

“Or you could let me keep them.  And then we can go back to that moment before you raised the topic.”

 

“You know I cannot,” said the elf.

 

“And neither can I,” murmured the dwarf, doing his best to manoeuvre Thranduil into the right position for a resolution to their problem.  How desperate did the elf need to be before he was willing to accept his suggestion, he wondered?  Just a bit more desperate than he was at the moment, it would seem.  Because, at the moment, there was no backing down at all.

 

But, his desperation was growing.  His breathing was fast and shallow and his rock-hard cock pressed urgently into Thorin’s belly.  Just a bit of a push, thought the dwarf.  And he ran a hand up underneath the silken robe and cupped the elf’s balls.

 

Thranduil began to shake.  His legs trembled and finally he slid to the marble floor pulling Thorin down with him.  He scrabbled to unbutton the dwarf’s breeches, then yanked him on top of his body.  “Fuck me!” he gasped.

 

There was nothing that Thorin wanted to do more but he showed considerable restraint.  Instead, he grasped the elf’s swollen cock so that the elven king moaned with pleasure.  Then he worked him to the edge of ecstasy ………and stopped! 

 

“This is a fruitless exercise,” he said calmly.  “We must never see each other again because our mutual passion prevents us from acting as we should.”  He got up and buttoned his trousers, leaving the elf writhing on the cold floor.

 

“By Eru, Thorin,” moaned Thranduil, struggling onto his knees.  “What do you think you’re about?”

 

“We cannot come to an agreement about the white stones,” said the dwarven king self-righteously, “and so we must stay away from each other until we do.”

 

The elf wrapped his arms about Thorin’s waist and pressed his flushed face into his groin.  “Then we must find a solution – quickly,” he moaned.  “This is a torment beyond anything I have ever suffered.”

 

Thorin waited a suitable moment and then he said hesitantly: “There might be one solution.”

 

“Anything,” Thranduil groaned as he began to grope at Thorin’s breeches once more and released the dwarf’s stiffened member.

 

“How about if we give the gems away to a third party – someone we both respect and admire?  Then neither elves nor dwarves will be in possession of this great treasure.”

 

Thranduil looked up angrily from where he had been sucking Thorin’s cock:  “The only person you will give those stones away to is me!” he shouted.

 

“If that’s your decision,” said Thorin calmly, pulling away from the elven king and preparing to do up his buttons once more.

 

“No!” gasped Thranduil, grabbing the dwarf’s prick desperately.  “I need time to think about this!”

 

“You’ve had hundreds of years to think about this.  Time’s up,” said Thorin coolly, carefully prising the elf’s fingers away and attempting to push his cock back into the safety of his breeches.

 

Thranduil’s long fingers shot out and took possession  of Thorin’s hard, silken erection once more.  “Just give me a few more minutes.” And the dwarven king looked down to where his lover knelt on the cold, marble floor, his head resting against his belly, his eyes shut tight and his lips lightly caressing the object of his desire.

 

 _Hurry up, Thranduil_ , Thorin was thinking, _before I burst_ .  And his composed features disguised his own inner torment.

 

Meantime, Thranduil’s thoughts were racing.   “Could he do without _this_?” he wondered, nuzzling the dwarven king’s member.  There was just no substitute for it.  No elf had one so broad and thick and satisfying.   And what about _these_ , too?  And he fondled the great, heavy balls.  Thorin was hung like a horse and it stirred him every time.  And, no elf was covered in a mat of hair or in decorative tattoos.  Most elves found such things repulsive, but they aroused Thranduil.  His hands wandered around to clench the rounded buttocks: so un-elf-like.  Elves were slender but Thorin’s behind provided him with a satisfying handful; and he dug in his fingers and groaned.

 

His hand travelled higher up the body and felt Thorin’s muscular chest.   The elven king was very strong himself but the dwarf was stronger and his strength made the elf swoon.  When he was taken by him – and how he loved those moments – then he felt that brutal power and dissolved into a trembling puddle of ecstasy.  How could he give up that?

 

And, more than anything else: how could he give up Thorin himself? That arrogant, bad-tempered, brave, beautiful, heroic, majestic, stubborn, sensitive, vulnerable bundle of gorgeousness.  There was no-one else like him in all Middle-earth and he loved him with all his heart.  What was a box of cold, white stones – stones, for goodness’ sake! – when compared with such as this?  What had he been thinking all this time?

 

Thorin had been standing there with gritted teeth as Thranduil ran his hands over him, wondering how much longer he could hold out.  But, suddenly, the elf stood and kissed him gently on his bearded lips.  “What third party do you suggest?” he asked quietly.

 

“Bard?” was the tentative response.  “He is lord of Girion now, neither dwarf nor elf.  He is brave and decent and noble.  He was the one to kill the dragon and he and the people of Lake Town deserve a special prize.”

 

Thranduil nodded slowly.  It was a sensible choice.  “I think I might persuade my people of the wisdom of this and they would welcome such a resolution and a peace between our two races.”

 

“My council have already given the idea their backing,” said Thorin.  “But it was important for them that you made a free decision in the matter.”  And then he took the elven king in his arms and kissed him deeply.  “My love,” he said, “my one and only love.  Take me to your bed before I die of longing.”

 

.o00o.

 

It was a wild, beautiful night and, as the two lay exhausted in each other’s arms the next morning. Thorin reached out to the pile of clothes by the side of the bed and, from a pocket, produced the betrothal ring.  “Let me put it back on your finger,” he murmured gently to the elven king.

 

“But,” asked Thranduil in surprise, “should I not give this to Bard?”

 

“No,” replied Thorin.  “There have been negotiations and it has been decided that it is a wedding ring and need not be given back either to the dwarves or to Bard upon my death.  It is a symbol of our love.”  Then he slipped it back onto Thranduil’s hand where it burned fiercely.

 

“A symbol of our love, now and forever,” whispered the elven king and he tucked himself happily into Thorin’s broad and muscular chest.

 

.o00o.

 

**Now, is that what’s called misplaced optimism?  But, let’s hope for the best.**

**Hope you enjoyed that, everyone, and that any newcomers to my stories will go back to _King of the Antlered Throne_ and read their story from the beginning.  Thank you very much for your time and I hope to be writing another story soon.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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